Prose

Queer immigrant lovers attend a phantasmagoric festival on an eve that their relationship shifts.

An elderly man reflects on his past and, by extension, his current place in life as he goes to collect his pension and meet a friend for an afternoon drink. (Extract from Peter Bennett’s upcoming novel.)

The cities in which we live often have profound effects on our inner lives, particularly when we are made to feel as if we don’t belong.

With the desertion of the vermin-people’s utopia, the vermin-children take to their own intergenerational justice, beginning anew through the art of the piper’s song.

When a stranger comes to stay in Port Tawe, his painting elicits a stream of painful memories and violent melodies for an injured musician.

Spray and wipe. Spray and wipe. Nemesis cleaned the conveyor belt until it glistened like the back of a killer whale.

A mother struggles to cope as the chaos in her home echoes the chaos in her head.

A writer enters self-imposed exile after writing what he believes to be a terrible book. But what will become of the world when the book reaches the shelves—and will its creator recognize his impact upon returning to an entirely changed society?

They were warned to stay away, but what happens when infatuation leads to confrontation?

Arminda has a startling power. But is it enough to rescue the woman she loves?

When Harpreet posts a video online in a stance against racism, their friend begins to see the benefits of social media – but will Harpreet’s fame last?

An unexpected encounter throws up past shames and future possibilities on the number 23 bus…

The dream does not leave his mind with the rising daylight; it sinks in deeper, taking hold of him and forcing him to view the truth of what he had been stopped from doing.

In Paris, every advertisement is a painting. The city is wallpapered with them: vibrant, colorful posters that grow like moss on every surface.

Fiction | Dear Sleuth Readers: The following content is an excerpt from a letter currently on display in the National Museum of Tourism and Immigration.

“Love has no exit interviews,” I say. “Closure is the poor man’s time travelling.” My voice is cold over the phone. I tell myself the situation calls for it; I’m speaking to my ex-girlfriend, after all.

It often feels like there’s nothing left to say. Let me clarify: there’s nothing peaceful left to say.

I remember Calvin and Darwin being spoken of with the same tongue, seeing our King James Bible beside A Brief History of Time, and the theory of relativity being used to prove the immanence of the divine.